


Un Monde Parfait

by collatorsden_archivist



Category: Ashes to Ashes, Life on Mars & Related Fandoms, Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, R/NC-17 - Brown Cortina, Time Period: 1973-1981 (Life on Mars)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-04-07
Updated: 2008-04-07
Packaged: 2019-01-20 20:03:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12440607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/collatorsden_archivist/pseuds/collatorsden_archivist
Summary: What goes on in the office stays in the office.





	Un Monde Parfait

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Janni, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [the Collators' Den](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Collators%27_Den), which was moved to the AO3 to ensure access and longevity for the fanworks. I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in October 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [the Collators' Den collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/collatorsden/profile).

  
Author's notes: Emergency pr0n for Ducky. :)  


* * *

"You know, Guv, I've been noticing something a bit alarming about you," Sam growled, after one punch too many had winded him once more and left him bent double next to the general disarray that was the interior of the Guv's office in A Division.

 

 

"Oh? And why should I take into consideration what you consider 'alarming,' Gladys? If I had a crisp, new pound note for every time you found something 'alarming,' I could be holed up with Brigitte Bardot in a cosy little flat on Mallorca and be sipping fancy fairy champy every day without a care in the world," came the inevitably scathing retort. 

 

Only this time, Sam wasn't in a mood to just sit and take it. Or stand bent double and take it, as it happened.

 

 

"I know you don't want to know what I think," Sam began.

 

 

"Do I ever?" Gene rolled his eyes, hooked his fingers in his beltloops, and huffed exasperatedly.

 

 

"But I think there's something to all these dust-ups you insist on having with me," Sam continued, very quietly.

 

 

It wasn't the words that were alarming so much as the tone in which they were delivered. Gene's throat suddenly went very dry. "Sometimes a punch is just a punch, Sammy-boy. A million battered women can't be

 

wrong." _There, that was it. Push Sam's "outrage" button and you'll have him..._

 

 

Except it wasn't working this time.

 

 

"I think you want more than this," Sam continued in that same quiet, even tone, which only served to ring the alarm bells even louder in Gene's head. It also didn't help even a little bit when Sam silently forced himself into Gene's physical space as he was saying these words.

 

 

"Do I?" was all Gene could think to say. He held his DI's gaze calmly, coolly, determined not to back off despite the fact that all he wanted to do was run as fast and as far away as his beloved bronze Cortina could take him.

 

 

The next moments passed in a bit of a blur, starting from the moment Sam unblinkingly placed a very tentative, experimental kiss on Gene's lips, through the time Sam's lower lip started bleeding a tiny bit at the left corner after Gene had bit down too hard on it, and all the way through the time two sets of button-down shirts, trousers, pants, socks, and shoes flew across the room in all directions as their flurry of mad activity flung them about.

 

 

Not the jacket, though. Never the jacket. "Leave it," Gene said---or nearly moaned, rather, as he distractedly planted a line of kisses from Sam's very annoying picky-pain lips right down to his

 

procedurally-pinioned (and very birdlike) collarbone.

 

 

"How am I supposed to get off what's under it?" Sam was indignant, even through the lovely sensation of Gene's tongue lapping at the hollow in his collarbone, tickling it just-so.

 

 

"You're a clever boy, you'll find a way," Gene continued working his way downward, the surreality of what he was about to do---no, what he _was_ doing overtaking him. _Has to be a dream, doesn't it? I'd best finish it, then..._ he thought to himself.

 

 

And indeed, Sam did. So when all their clothing was thrown around the office, the sight of Sam wearing nowt but that blastedly sexy jacket, leaning just-so against the edge of his desk sent Gene off into an 

 

hysterical fit of laughter.

 

 

"And what's so bloody funny about all this?" Sam's composure was, for once, shaken. Gene couldn't help it; he loved that look. Which only served to make him laugh even harder.

 

 

"It's just...you! You come waltzing in here with all your fancy methods of policing and it takes you so long to detect this? I don't know whether to continue this or fire you! DC Skelton could have 

 

picked up these clues faster than you!" Gene howled, unable to restrain himself.

 

 

Sam suddenly looked forlorn and ashamed. "Maybe I did. But maybe I thought I was wrong." _There, that did it. Little pout, little lip quiver and they usually fall for it..._ Sam kept his eyes downcast.

 

 

"Oh, only considering my feelings, were you? That's a first," Gene managed to stop himself laughing and return to the matter in hand. 

 

 

"Haven't I always told you you need to stop thinking with _this_ ," and he rapped Sam's forehead lightly with his knuckles, "and start thinking with _this_?" and he now knocked those same knuckles against Sam's gut.

 

 

And then Sam got a wicked gleam in his eye and guided Gene's hand just a slight bit lower.

 

 

"You mean like _this_?" he said softly before returning the favour and gently massaging that very sensitive area between Gene's balls and ass with two fingertips, the rest of his hand gently grasping the warmth of Gene's balls.

 

 

"You know, I've always liked you best when you're showing initiative," Gene growled, slowly stroking his lovely, calloused fingers down Sam's length and not breaking his gaze the whole time he was doing it. 

 

 

"You're sure everyone's gone home for the evening?" was all Sam could think to say as he arched upward into Gene's hand and tried hard not to break his own rhythm as he began stroking Gene's ridiculously

 

engorged cock in a very similar way, only with slightly softer (and girlier, Gene would say) hands.

 

 

"Yes. And we're the model of dedicated, hardworking policemen," Gene managed to get out in between gasps.

 

 

"That's...that's..." Sam was moaning and writhing against the desk and had never felt so glorious as he did at just this exact moment.

 

 

"Yes?" Gene opened one of the eyes he'd squinched shut as he got more and more into the rhythm of things and had been rocking and panting and about to explode from overstimulation for going on a minute now.

 

 

"I believe I've now got a papercut across my arse," Sam managed to laugh, just as he finally came in a gasping, gushing geyser all over Gene's hand.

 

 

"I should have guessed you'd get off on pain, Dorothy," Gene said, managing to never lose his own rhythm during this whole exchange.

 

 

"There's a reason I let you rough me up all the time, Guv. Do you really think I couldn't take you if I wanted to?" Sam grinned, face suddenly sunny and mischievous and... _boyish_ , actually.

 

 

"And there's a reason I do it," Gene grunted as he, too, finally came.

 

 

And then widened his eyes in shock as Sam started greedily licking his fingers, lapping like a very careful cat at the mess Gene had just made.

 

 

"You don't have to do that," Gene was...was he actually _blushing_?

 

 

"Of course I don't. But I wanted to savour the moment," Sam grinned, looking for all the world like he'd just had the best sundae in the universe.


End file.
